i am hip

I went to the Vice magazine party last weekend. Boy, did I have a sucky time there. Maybe it was partly because I was sober and didn't know anyone, but I think it was largely because of all the fucking hipsters.

I've resigned myself to being an outsider forever. Redheads just don't get to be cool. I've moved on. So my jealousy and covetousness is being slowly transformed into resentment. Okay, so I haven't moved on at all.

If you're a fan of Vice magazine, you might be interested in this article. Apparently it was a subtle pisstake, but with elements of truth. A couple of people have said I should try writing for Vice. It would be ace, but I have this nagging guilt about not caring about the right wing stuff. I mean, it's so clearly retarded that you'd have to be dumb to take it seriously.

Radiohead's depiction of a postmodern deconstruction of the pointlessness of life in this uptown world living with an uptown girl with a backstreet guy.

I'm beginning to worry about my sense of humour. Right now I find homophobia to be the funniest thing ever. My big thing at the moment is the inappropriate use of the word "gay". It's just funny. The thing is, no-one else seems to find it absurd. I might say something like, "those curtains are gay." Then I laugh my arse off. But then I hear people describe something as gay and no-one bats an eyelid. It's toally bizarre.

In other news, my review of Radiohead's OK Computer seems to have stirred Sydney. The Brag has only been out for a day, and already I've recieved one hate mail and two fan mails. If I can't have fame, I'll settle for infamy.

Radiohead
OK Computer
EMI/Parlophone
1/2 out of 5

As I’m fond of saying, Radiohead are about as fun as a public miscarriage. Thanks to their aborted national tour, over the past couple of weeks I’ve had many vacant eyed drug addicts tell me how Thom Yorke changed their lives by making it okay to look like a mink crushed by a forklift.

This “classic” album from 1997 sounds like it was put together by cheerless goths hastily constructing their last minute HSC drama piece. The height of Radiohead’s pretentious songtitles has to be ‘Exit Music (For A Film)’. Ooh, they used brackets. How impressive! The song itself sounds like a James Blundell and James Reyne duet played at half speed by drunken amputees with buckets for replacement limbs.

Then there is the sleeve of this album, obviously put together by art school wankers. The graphics were covered in so much scribble it looked like the inside of a 4-year-old’s first Little Golden Book, and the lyrics had so many typos they were indecipherable. Whatever, girlfriend!

Let me be the first to announce that the Emperor has no clothes. All their bohemian babble is just a smokescreen to distract listeners from the fact that Thom Yorke is a whiny loser.